


You are your own person

by Qpenguin98



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Child Abuse, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Trans Dave, Trans Male Character, daves really fucked up, dead naming, it's not really bro persay but a conjured up version in daves head i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qpenguin98/pseuds/Qpenguin98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can feel the phantom breaks and bruises across your body, and you can hear the clang of metal, and you can see his face, his face, his face, as he calls you a name that is yours but not yours. You fucked up again ____. Do you want to be a girl, ____? Cause you’re certainly fucking acting like one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are your own person

Your stomach rolls as you drink the weird, grainy, meteor coffee. It tastes like acid at this point, but it’s not like you’re going to dump it. You can’t waste shit like this.

Kanaya and Rose sit at a table together in the common room, reading over some book and eating the closest thing any of you has come to making a muffin. Something registers in the back of your brain, but you’re not sure what exactly it is, so you keep drinking your coffee.

Karkat’s reading this lengthy romance novel on the couch and you think about going to ask him something snarky about it, but then your stomach rumbles.

Really loudly.

Karkat’s in close enough proximity to hear it, and he looks up at you.

“What the hell was that?”

“Uh, just my stomach, man. I’m a little hungry, but I’ve got the fresh morning coffee, so I’m good to go.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

You have to think about it for a second. Not today you haven’t, but you usually don’t eat much, if at all in the mornings, so it’s not that weird. You shake your head no in response.

The action leaves the world tilted and it takes a second to focus before you can listen again.

His eyes are narrow when he speaks. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Last-” you start, and then stop, because it wasn’t last night. It wasn’t even yesterday. You look down at your coffee and try to think, but everything feels muddled and foggy, and it’s really hard for you to focus at all, let alone trying to figure out when you last ate.

You realize how hungry you actually are and take another drink of coffee to make it stop. It doesn’t help, it just makes you feel sicker.

By the time you realize you haven’t answered him, he’s already up in front of you. You almost jump, almost, but instead you straighten you glasses and your spine.

“Dave, when’s the last time you ate?”

He sounds so empathetic and worried and he shouldn’t. Why the fuck should he care about you?

“Last night,” you say automatically, and you can tell how much it sounds like a lie. You dirty liar. If you lie it makes it worse.

“You’re lying,” he says, and you brace yourself for a hit that won’t come. Your eyes are closed and you feel like you’re falling over, but you’ve mastered the art of standing up straight, even when your ankle’s broken, so you can’t be.

The hand is soft on your shoulder and you open your eyes. Take a breath. He won’t hurt you. Karkat couldn’t hurt anyone unless he had to. Breathe again.

You’re back to you.

“Actually no, you’re right,” you say. “It wasn’t last night, but it was yesterday. I ate yesterday morning and I must have forgotten to eat afterwards. Too busy doing cool shit to eat, I guess.”

You perfected the art of lying to everyone but Bro a long, long time ago. But evidently, you can’t fool Karkat.

He opens his mouth to speak and you pull yourself from his grip. Grabbing a bag of chips, you practically sprint out of the room.

Chips probably weren’t the best choice, but it’s all you’ve had to eat in however long and they taste so good.

You need to remember to eat more, you can’t worry people, can’t make them question you.

Can’t let down Bro.

\---

You’ve holed up in an abandoned corner of the meteor to try and come back to yourself. Everything’s loud and everything’s bright and you’d feel disconnected were it not for the migraine. You’re chugging water like your life depends on it, and maybe it does.

You need to stay hydrated, water is everything, water is what you have when there’s no food, you can live on just water, you’ve done it before, you don’t deserve food, you worthless piece of shit, stay hydrated and deal with it.

You can feel the phantom breaks and bruises across your body, and you can hear the clang of metal, and you can see his face, his face, his face, as he calls you a name that is yours but not yours. You fucked up again . Do you want to be a girl, ? Cause you’re certainly fucking acting like one.

You’d started shaking while watching a movie. There was a lot of blood and noises and more blood and so much blood. Group movie night was supposed to be fun, not you ruining it with your pussy reactions to things you’ve grown up with forever.

You are a guy, but if you don’t act like one, you aren’t one. You will be called , not Dave. You will be stripped of your identity, for good reason. If you do not act like the gender you want to be, you are not that gender. You will be a girl, you are a girl, you are , man the fuck up.

Only girls cry at blood and only girls leave a movie and only girls sit shaking in a corner wallowing in their own self pity.

“Dave?”

Why is he here, why does it have to be him?

“I don’t know why you left, but if it’s anything I did I-”

“No,” you grit out, and you’re the worst, the worst is you. Get your shit together, .

“Not your fault,” you continue. “I’m just being a pussy bitch and-”

“Stop it. Stop. You can’t keep tearing yourself down for completely normal things. So you reacted badly to something, so fucking what? You have emotions and that’s healthy. I don’t get why you think you have to stuff shit down and be completely emotionless.”

It hurts, somewhere deep and dark that you’ve stored away for a long time. It’s too revealing and too painful and you can feel tears pricking at your eyes.

“You don’t know shit about me.”

Your voice wavers and cracks and comes out a lot more vulnerable than you intended. Karkat sits down in front of you, and you turn your head away.

“You're right,” and his voice sounds like he’s trying to placate you. “I don’t. So tell me.”

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it, and there’s too many emotions right now for you and your brain is spinning because what if he’s right? What if it is healthy to have emotions? What if you could just exist?

Then those thoughts get shot down because emotions mean you’re a sissy fucking girl, , didn’t I teach you that? I thought I cut that into your brain enough times for you to FUCKING UNDERSTAND IT.

A low keening sound surrounds you and you slowly, slowly realize it’s you. You’re kind of rocking in a circle and it’s gross and you’re gross why can’t you be normal.

There’s arms around you and a patting on your face and shoulders and it’s the gentlest touch you’ve ever felt.

He talks and talks stories about his childhood and his lusus and his friends. Talks about his blood color and what it meant. Then he talks about Terezi for a while and he sounds so positive about so much and it’s nice. Nice and quiet and calming.

You stop rocking and stop crying and stop existing for a while and it’s nice, just focusing on his voice and his stories as he talks on and on and on.

You don’t want this moment to end.

\---

You shyly lace your fingers with his as you watch a movie, and it’s so gay and cutesy you almost vomit. Guys don’t get with guys, , you fucking pansy. You try to shake his voice out of your head, but it’s near impossible, so you let yourself live and rest your head on Karkat’s shoulder as well.

You’re mute the rest of the movie. Frozen in place. If you move wrong, you’ll lose the moment, if you move at all he’ll question you.

You’re not acting like a man, . You’re acting like a little bitch. Tell him you’re not a fucking homo and get on with your life.

Instead, you whisper a quiet, “Bathroom,” and get up. The rest of the people barely give you a glance, but he looks up at your face.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just gotta pee really fucking badly. Be back in a second.”

You’re not back in a second. You don’t even bother going back. You sit on your bed in your room and blast music through your headphones.

Your name is Dave Strider. You are fifteen years old. You are a boy. You are not a girl. You are your own person. You are not your brother’s punching bag.

That thought comes out of nowhere. Bro didn’t use you like a punching bag, he just taught you how the world was. There were rules. You weren’t allowed to break them.

But then there’s the thing that none of your friends ever fought with their parents. Sure they had arguments, but there were never swords involved. And then the fact that there was never food around the house and you literally had to hoard any food in your closet. John talked about how there were so many cakes around the house all the time and you thought it was a joke because no one has that much food, right?

And then there were cameras. So many cameras. They were always filming you and it made you feel violated and uncomfortable. But they were just to teach you to be on your game, right?

Right?

And then you think about how much hate you felt from him when you asked him to call you Dave. How many more rules there were. How bad strifes got. How he’d call you by your “real name” if you weren’t masculine enough, if you didn’t suck it up and stop crying, if you showed any bit of femininity, if you showed emotion at all.

You feel like throwing up. You feel like dying.

Instead you shut off all the lights and anything anyone can contact you with and go to bed.

Silence surrounds you as you try not to panic.

\---

You keep your sleeves down around everyone constantly. You thank everything your sleeves are red and that you don’t have to worry about the stains seeping through.

You hate blood and you hate seeing it, especially your own, so it’s the perfect way to punish yourself, neutralize your reaction. Stop reacting, Dave. See? I called you Dave, that means you’re doing good. Now do better.

Red, blood, red, blood, line line line, cut red blood blood blood.

Karkat knows something’s wrong. You’ve been spending too much time with him, and he’s noticing your nervous ticks, the way you hold yourself, the way you hide yourself. He’ll hold your hand and run his thumb over your covered wrist.

You try so hard to sit with him, hug him, actually touch him and block out your brothers insults. Fucking pansy. Man the fuck up. You’re not right, . Get yourself together and stop acting like a little bitch you fucking tranny scum.

You’re cracking, trying so hard to make sure Karkat doesn’t figure anything out, that you miss the fact that he already has. He holds you very gently but firmly and it hurts in a good way. He tries to make sure you’re okay, rubs his fingers up your arms and your sides and gives you reassuring words.

And then he kisses you.

And you kiss back.

And you like it.

You shouldn’t like it.

If you’re a boy you don’t kiss boys. You fucking girl. You’re a girl. Get it into your head that you can’t like boys if you’re a boy because if you even think about liking a boy it means that you’re not fucking Dave, you’re . Do you get it? Do you understand that? That’s how the fucking world works.

You stop responding and turn your head away, hand over your mouth.

Karkat’s spouting some apology about how he’s sorry he should have asked you, are you okay, we don’t have to do that again if you don’t want, he shouldn’t have done that, oh god he’s so sorry.

“Please don’t cry,” he says, “Please, Dave, I’m so sorry.”

You touch your face and it’s wet. You feel confused and scared and _wrong_ you feel wrong what’s wrong with you?

Karkat wants to touch you, but he doesn’t know what he can do, and that hurts more than anything your brother’s ever done to you. Why do you have to be so fucked up, why can’t you be normal, why can’t you just like Karkat and kiss him and hug him and hold his hand like a normal person?

Because you’re not a normal person. You’re a fucked up little kid that’s deluded herself into thinking she’s a boy that she’s tough that she can act like a man but you can’t. You’re a sissy fucking girl, , and you can’t ever be normal.

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN ALIVE ANYMORE.”

You scream it and Karkat jumps. He’s not real he’s not real Bro is dead and this is some sick coping mechanism he’s gone he can’t hurt you there’s no one left to hurt you. Karkat just wants to kiss you and you just want to kiss him so get over yourself and do it.

You force yourself to kiss him and it lasts barely a second before Karkat pulls back and looks at you funny.

“Dave.”

He wants to talk about it.

You don’t want to talk about it.

You have to talk about it.

“It’s not…” You stop. There’s no way to bring this up. What even _is_ this?

“I’m trans,” you blurt out. Super eloquent and cool. Your face is red and you hate everything about yourself so much.

“What?” Of course he doesn’t know. Of course you have to explain it to him. He’s an alien with no concept of the gender standards.

“It’s… I, uh, wasn’t born right.”

“Born right how?”

“Simplest terms I was born a girl and didn’t want to be one so I’m a guy and my name is Dave and please don’t stop calling me Dave.”

“Why would I do that?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

“My, uhm, when I told my Bro I wanted to be called Dave he got really weird and I think he was mad and started doing a lot of shit to make sure that I was a ‘man’ and if I didn’t follow the rules he’d call me by my ‘real name.’ And it was a lot of homophobic transphobic shit and I know that but he ingrained it really well because I really hate my ‘real name’ and now if I do anything wrong or girly or anything he didn’t like, it’s really, it’s hard because I can hear what he’d say to it, what he’d do to it, and he’s dead so I shouldn’t care right? But you, you’re like, everything he didn’t like and everything he tried to beat out of me and you’re great and I really like all of that stuff but I’m not fucking normal and I can’t be gay or bi or pan or whatever the fuck I am because if I like a boy, I’m not a guy I’m a girl, I’m, I’m-”

You stop yourself before you can call yourself  in front of him. You avert your eyes and take in a couple breaths because that was a lot, wasn’t it you pansy bitch?

Fuck everything.

You can’t even tell where your thoughts end and his begin.

Karkat stands there speechless for a minute, and the entire time you’re fidgety, nervous for what he’ll say to you.

“That’s really fucked up,” is what he says and you laugh.

It really is fucked up.

“Yeah,” you say. “It kind of really is.”

“What other shit did he do?”

You’re confused. “What do you mean?”

“You react badly to certain things that don’t really pertain to your gender, and I want to know what exactly he did to fuck you up.”

You’re silent. Do you really react that weirdly? Did he really fuck you up that badly?

“Fuck, sorry that came out wrong. I’m kind of super pissed at your Bro right now and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Goddammit I’m fucking this up aren’t I?”

“No, no you’re right. I think. I guess? I mean, Rose and John and Jade never grew up like I did so I guess you’re right. There wasn’t a lot of food around the house and if I wanted to eat I’d either have to get it myself or earn it from him. And I guess I forget I actually have to eat now that there’s so much food all the time and I don’t have to save it for when I really need it. And I’m pretty sure he filmed me for his weird porn site sometimes. A lot. A lot of times. There were cameras everywhere and I always had to be on guard for them and sometimes they’d show up in my room and it made me really uncomfortable and I didn’t really like it at all.”

You feel like vomiting after saying that one. Because it’s gross. You realize it’s gross. And Karkat’s face is horrified and you are embarrassed and shamed.

“There’d be a strife at least once a day and I really hate fighting and blood and the sound of metal on metal, it all makes me really aghhh and headspacey and unreal but I have to neutralize myself to it because there’s not gonna be time to go have a panic attack in the corner once our three years are up so I’ve been making myself bleed and hurt and deal with it and I don’t really think it’s working because I get really weird after and I think I go away or stop existing or something because I come back to myself later and it’ll be a while.”

You breathe out and close your eyes. Open them. Breathe in again.

“Dave that’s not, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then don’t,” you respond.

It’s really hard to get him to do that, stop talking about something once he’s mad about it, but you manage with lots of face pats. And then you kiss him. And you let yourself enjoy it.

Fucking bitch.

No, you think.

No I am not.

You are far from fixed, not even on your way past damaged. But you will try your damnedest not to listen to that voice in your head calling you  and a bitch and a girl.

Your name is Dave Strider.

And you are your own person.

**Author's Note:**

> this actually fucked me up by writing it bc the hypermasculine standards for trans masculine people suck and this is stuff i hear in myh head daily and fuck masn fuck.  
> take it and go guys  
> take it and go


End file.
